


Keep Your Enemies Closer (Soulmates Part 5)

by IarnaStrom



Series: Soulmates [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 04:58:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6501655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IarnaStrom/pseuds/IarnaStrom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily seeks guidance in the Underworld which leads her closer to the truth about what happened to Sam.  Unfortunately, to save him, she must seek help from an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Your Enemies Closer (Soulmates Part 5)

Emily ducked her head, dodging behind a pile of corpses as a harpy swooped overhead. Her heart was pounding in her chest hard enough to make her ribs ache. The acrid scent of burning heat mingled with the stench of Sulphur, reminding her of her time in Hell. Then again, the Judeo-Christian Disneyland of Damnation was only an agonizing boat ride across the River Styx from where she stood. But she wasn’t there to bribe the ferryman into taking her back there. She needed guidance from the one being in existence that understood her submissive bond to Sam better than anyone. She needed her grandfather. Well, great-great-great-too-many-greats-to-list grandfather. It was his blood that was tempered by the gods her mother had claimed allegiance to. It was his power that gave her the strength to tear through Hell’s Armies with her teeth bared in a manic grin. And it was his nature that had her bowing to her Hunter without thought or question. She needed his guidance in understanding what was happening to her. It had been nearly a month since she’d parted ways from Sam at the motel, and, considering their final goodbye, she hadn’t intended on crawling back to him anytime soon. 

After she’d apologized for being insubordinate and cruel, he’d taken her to the bed, stripped her out of her clothes, and rewarded her with a handful of orgasms courtesy of his talented tongue. When she was so sensitive to his touch the pleasure started turning painful, they’d simply laid in each other’s arms to recover. He told her about the hunts he’d been on in the time since he’d been back while she listened quietly. He’d mentioned that he felt different around her, that he felt more like a man than a machine, but he wasn’t sure why. He was writing it off that he cared about her like he always had, but she couldn’t shake the instinct that there was more to the story. She was ready to share her research with him, tell him about Psyche’s Soulless Ones, when a knock at the door burst their little bubble of tranquility. Sam had answered the door, his jeans still unzipped and his shirt abandoned, and his grandfather had given him a once over that showed a mix of admiration and disgust. 

“Once a day not enough for you anymore, son?” Campbell had asked, darting a glance at Emily before looking back at Sam. 

Sam had gotten instantly uncomfortable, running his fingers through his hair as he subtly motioned with the other hand for Campbell to shut up. But the damage had already been done. Emily cringed internally when the question left Samuel’s lips and the reality that Sam wasn’t as faithful to her as she was to him settled in. She’d climbed off the bed, biting the inside of her cheek to keep the sting of betrayal on the back burner until she could escape, and started gathering her stuff as Sam dismissed his grandfather. 

“Emily, I can explain,” Sam had said as soon as the door was shut. 

“Don’t bother,” she’d said quietly. “I get it. I’ve always been an afterthought to you. Why should things be any different now?” 

She’d kept her voice low, just above a whisper to keep from screaming at the injustice of it all. She’d been created to bond with a Hunter that held a position of importance in existence. She’d been trained since she was a child, balancing her part in the tapestry of the Fates with a normal human life, to fulfill her role as a Guardian. She’d been robbed of her ascension to the ranks of her people, but she’d still managed to find her mate without the help of the Gods. She’d loved him, worshiped him, saved her body for his pleasure, and been through Hell and back, literally, for him. He had never been far from her thoughts and had never left her heart. But he’d never so much as asked Bobby about her when he returned to the field. For all she knew, he hadn’t thought of her at all until she’d reappeared in his life. 

“Because I love you,” Sam had said with a harsh conviction that made her turn towards him as she packed her duffle. His eyes were like hardened jewels as he stared at her, fear brimming along his lashes with his barely checked pain. “Please, don’t leave like this.” 

“If you really love me,” she’d said carefully, “then why would you sleep with other women? The Sam I knew wouldn’t even think of being unfaithful. Why would it be so easy to have sex with another girl and then come to me expecting more?” 

Sam had blown out a breath and sunk to the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. She could feel his confusion like a fog on her skin, twisting inside him with a growing self-loathing. He hated the fact that he’d been unfaithful to her and couldn’t give her a straight answer as to why. He’d confessed to her shortly afterward that when they were separated for too long, he started to lose his moral compass. He knew he loved her, but he couldn’t feel it enough to care at all. It wasn’t exactly a comforting thought to Emily. But she couldn’t deny his plea for help and promised to find a cure for his condition. 

She’d turned her investigation into the Jinn over to him and Campbell with the promise to keep trying to figure out what was wrong with him. He’d kissed her goodbye and told her to call him soon, but she hadn’t spoken to him since. She couldn’t face the coolness in his voice and hearing the seductive purr he was more than likely using on other women every day to get them into bed. The images of hypothetical trysts had filled her thoughts, fueling her rage and bloodlust. She was growing increasingly unstable as the days went by without some form of contact with her Master and she wondered if her refusal to be with him, even over the phone, was turning her feral as punishment. Guardians were bred to stay with their Hunters, putting their Masters’ needs above their own. Harboring any ill feelings for their Hunters was a Cardinal Sin for her race. The harpies circling overhead could smell her guilt and it was stirring them into a blood frenzy. 

Their swollen feathered belly heaved as their hawk-like wings thumped through the air, breaking up the screeching caws that ripped from their humanoid throats past their cracked lips. Emily could see the light of the molten river glinting off the razor sharp talons and swallowed hard. The harpies were the great dogs of Zeus, snatching guilty souls as they died and torturing them as they dragged them down into Tartarus. Though Emily’s golden thread had yet to be cut, her soul cried out in shame for her sins against her Master. Leaving him, disobeying his request to stay in touch because her own personal suffering was too much for her to bear, was to betray her very reason for existing and her cowardice was another Cardinal Sin. If the harpies caught her on the banks of the river, she wouldn’t be able to bargain her way out of the Underworld again. 

Ocypete, the middle child of the Harpy Sisters, peeled her dried lips off her teeth and let out a piercing caw, making Emily shutter as she saw the creature’s sharpened, yellowed teeth and pictured them ripping into her flesh. Alleo taunted her, squawking in Ancient Greek that they could smell her Phúlaxian blood and were looking forward to tearing her to ribbons. Podarge fell into a death roll and swept along the ground searching for her as she burrowed deeper into the refuge of the corpses she was as cover. But the one she feared the most was the raven feathered Celaeno who glided silently overhead, using the shadows to blink from one point to another at will. The dark harpy was the one that was in charge of hunting the Phúlax when they failed in their charge and kept their eyes as trophies. Emily knew Celaeno was vexed to the point of obsession with having a pair of ice blue eyes in her collection, but the Phúlax of Emily’s House had never failed. Until her. 

She knew she couldn’t escape them on her own, but her only chance at survival would give away her position. She should have just summoned her grandfather to the surface, but she hadn’t wanted to risk Hades tagging along. With no other choice, she gripped the amber charm around her neck tightly and rolled into the open. 

“Éla se ména, to prosopikó,” Emily bellowed as she yanked the charm from her neck. The silver chain went instantly rigid and grew into an ironwood staff as tall as she was. Both ends thickened and knotted themselves into heavy round balls of amber, allowing her to spin the weapon with the ease of a lifetime of practice. 

The harpies dropped out of the blackened sky, swooping down on her with the teeth and claws wide. Emily spun her staff, knocking them back as she moved across the blackened, rocky terrain towards the mouth on Hade’s palace. The bridge leading to the castle carved in the enormous obsidian stalagmites was up, as it often was when Hades was in residence, but she ran for it anyway. She fought the harpies with every step until she reached the edge of the mote that was brimming with churning, fiery waters. She dropped to her knees at the edge, praying her grandfather would be willing to hear her cry, and tipped her head back to release purely animal howl that echoed through the Underworld and into the palace halls. 

Enraged by her audacity, the harpies gathered above her for one final strike. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as the caws came closer, but she couldn’t move as she howled again. She could soon feel the buffeting of the harpies’ wings and the shifting of their feathers as they dove for her. She howled for the third and final time, calling to her grandfather for help. If he denied her an audience, the harpies would eat her alive. But the sound of clawed feet cracking against obsidian floors at a gallop greeted her ears with a three-toned howl. The bridge crashed down under her grandfather’s weight as he bared three sets of razor sharp teeth in a roar that sent the harpies squawking in fear as they flew away. Her grandfather chased them, snapping as he jumped up on his hind legs until the disappeared down the tunnels to Tartarus where they belonged. Emily rolled to her side and laid on her back on the ground as his thundering footfalls returned at a leisurely pace. As was custom, she laid still and closed her eyes as her grandfather lowered his three heads to sniff her. 

“Granddaughter mine,” he rumbled in three voices, his broad center head pushing at her side in a silent command to stand up and face him. 

“Cerberus,” she said as she rested her forehead against his center head and scratched the underside of the chins to the left and right with her hands. “Thank you for seeing me.” 

“Of course,” he said with a chuff as he stood to his full height, towering fifteen feet above her. “The Phúlax of the House of Winter have always been my most prized offspring. I will always come when you call. But, I must ask, why are you here? I would have come to the surface if you’d summoned me.” 

“Would you believe me if I said I feel more at home in the Underworld these days?” she asked and he chuffed at her again. 

“Hades, no,” he said with a chuckle, making her smile. “What troubles you, child?” 

“I fear I am bringing dishonor to my kind,” she said with a sigh and leaned against his furry black leg as all three of his heads dropped to look at her. 

“Why?” he asked in his three voices, each one a slightly different pitch that harmonized nicely. 

“Because I have abandoned my Master,” she admitted, biting her lip in shame. 

“Is he unworthy of having a Phúlax Guardian?” Cerberus asked bluntly. “If I am not mistaken, your Sam Winchester has been written into many of the Fates’ plans.” 

“He has,” she said. “He managed to stop the Judeo-Christian apocalypse and gave us all a second chance. I can feel that his poem is far from over, but,” she said, hesitating to admit her selfishness. 

“But, what, child?” her grandfather asked, nudging her with the head closest to her. 

“But, he’s just not the same anymore,” she whispered. “When we’re apart, he’s unfaithful and cold. It’s only when we’re together that he acts like I matter. He’s not the boy I fell in love with.” 

Cerberus snorted, kicking up black dust from the ground. “It is not your place to love or hate your Master. You are a Phúlax, a War-dog of Artemis bred from my blood and the blood of a god. Boreas favored the human woman that started your bloodline, not Aphrodite. You are a warrior, not a breeder.” 

“But Psyche,” she started to argue and he huffed at her. 

“Psyche’s involvement in your race was to help place the matched souls of the Hunters into the right Phúlax to protect them,” he said, “not find them mates to join with. Just because your soul is Sam’s soul’s other half does not mean love is part of your future. You were meant to be his Guardian, not his wife. You may love him, and should to keep your priorities in line, but that does not mean he is fated to love you back. To him you are simply supposed to be his sword and his shield. 

“Then why does he say he loves me when we are together?” she asked, feeling her heart break at her grandfather’s harsh words. 

“Have you lain with him?” he asked suddenly, tilting his center head at her. 

“Yes and no,” she admitted, stepping away from his leg to hug herself tightly. “He’s tasted me, and I him, but he hasn’t broken my maidenhead.” 

“So he has yet to claim you properly,” he said and she could hear the frown in his voice. “Without going through the rite of passage, the only ways to ascend is for your Hunter to claim you or for you to forfeit your soul to him. But if you forfeit your soul, your body will become hollow and feral.” 

“I don’t understand,” she said, frowning up at him. “Why does it matter if he’s claimed me or not?” 

“I’m wondering of the Fates’ plan,” he said with a sigh. “You say you love him and want him to love you back, yes?” he asked and she nodded. “But the Phúlax of the House of Winter are weapons in human form, not bearers of young, while their Hunters are still in play. Unless your Master has fulfilled his final destiny, romance should never have come into play. Then again, your mother wasn’t supposed to have died before your Rite was performed. Having you un-ascended leaves you vulnerable to your human emotions. If you are feeling romantic love for your Master, your blood is trying to find a way to fulfill your Rite a different way. But, if he’s claiming to feel the same for you, then your soul is feeding into his which risks him consuming it completely.” 

“But humans can only have a single unbroken soul in their vessel at a time unless they are possessed,” she said, rubbing her temples as a headache started to threaten in her skull when a dark thought kept back into her mind. “Which means he is a Soulless One,” she said more to herself than Cerberus. 

“A Soulless One?” he asked in shock. “A major player in the Fates’ plan cannot be soulless. How could even think such a thing?” 

“Because, when we are separated, he’s hollow and feral,” she said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Except that I have no idea what happened to his soul if it is missing from his vessel.” 

Cerberus sat down on the ground with a whump, his bushy tail kicking up another cloud of black dust as it swept back and forth slowly while he thought in silence for a moment. 

“How did he escape from Lucifer’s cage?” he asked suddenly, his three brains peeling away the layers of her mystery faster than could ever hope to. 

“No clue,” she said honestly as she bent to pick up her staff and shook it until it returned to the form of her necklace before fastening it around her neck. “As far as I know, only angels can pull a human soul from Perdition, but Sam went in body and soul. His body is topside as we speak.” 

“Then his soul may have been left behind,” Cerberus said, making her heart seize in her chest. 

If Sam’s soul was still in the cage, that explained the vacuum in his center that her soul swelled to fill and why he was so feral when they were apart. It would also explain why she felt weaker without him near. Her soul was being stretched too thin by the distance because it was her place to keep him whole. The love he’d confessed wasn’t his own, it was the love she held for him echoing from his mouth. But more pressing than her emotional state was the fact that his soul would be at the mercy of Lucifer and Michael with nowhere to go and no one to protect it. He would be shredded again and again by torturers much more skilled than Dean had been with her. She needed to get him out if his soul was there, but the cage was off limits to her mother’s gods. She needed either an angel or a demon that she could trust that was strong enough to open the cage without unleashing the Devil or his brother. 

“Crowley,” she whispered and Cerberus growled. 

“The red-eyed bastard that’s been stealing my pups and turning them into his pets?” her grandfather snarled. “Hellhounds, he calls them! They are my children and he snatches them up when they are just babies, teaching them to fetch souls on his command. In ancient times, the demons that did their deals in the crossroads collected their prizes by hand. Now, there is no honor! And worse, he turned you into his lapdog, too!” 

“I chose to work for him, grandfather,” she said, shaking her head. “Sam was lost without his brother. I chose to do his dirty work in exchange for saving Dean.” 

“He lied that he could help you in the first place, and then left you to torment at the same boy’s hand,” her grandfather snarled. “No. I will not allow you to meet with him again. Not on your own. If you want his help getting you into the cage, I insist you summon him here.” 

“He won’t come of he knows you’re close,” she said bluntly. “He’s a survivalist and he knows you’d bite his head off. Literally.” Emily shook her head and blew out a breath. “I have to go one my own. He’s claimed the throne in Hell and doesn’t need my services anymore. I’ll go in and speak with him. If I’m in any danger, I’ll summon you to my side. I promise.” 

“I don’t like it,” he said and huffed. “Alright. But if you’re not back by the time the sun sets on the surface, I’m coming in whether you summon me or not. I won’t risk you being tortured again.” 

“Understood,” she said and reached for his center head to hug his muzzle as his other two heads nudged her sides in his version of a hug. “I love you, grandfather.” 

“And I you, granddaughter mine,” he rumbled back. 

After she said farewell to Cerberus, she whistled for the ferryman and dropped three drachmae in his bony hand; one for the passage into Hell, one for her safe return, and one for his good fortune. She climbed into the macabre little boat and planted her ass on the bench by the bow while he pushed them along with his blackened staff. The River Styx met up with the River Acheron at the border to Hell and the ferryman let her off on the promise to come back before sundown. She tipped her head in respect and gratitude as he shoved away from the shore, then turn towards the winding path that led to the center of Hell. 

Time slowed to a crawl filled with the wailing of billions of souls as they paid for the sins in pain. Every time she blinked, she was transported back to Dean’s torture table. 

“This is all your fault,” his voice hissed in her mind, warped by the evil in the air. She could feel the heat as the knife would use unzipped her flesh in a gush of red slowly. She could hear her own scream ricocheting around in her skull as he cackled maniacally at her pain. “I love the way you scream for me,” his voice whispered through her mind. “Do it again, princess. With more feeling this time.” 

A cold sweat broke out on her brow and across her top lip as the memories of their sessions filled her mind. She squeezed the scar left on her hand and winced as the real pain broke through, shattering the effects of being in Hell on a wave of reality. She wasn’t on the rack anymore. She was walking freely towards the throne room. She could leave whenever she wanted. She wasn’t a prisoner anymore. 

She repeated those words to herself in a mumble as she climbed the steps to the King’s lair. She knew Crowley favored the surface, but he would come home if he knew she was there. She pushed the heavy doors open with ease and marched herself straight past the demons standing guard. They rushed her at once, trying to box her in, but the twisted, damned souls of Hell were no match for her skill. She didn’t even bother summoning a weapon from the charm her mother hand given her, she just fought tooth and claw, playing with her food. 

“What in the bloody hell is going on here?” an accented voice boomed, making the demons she’d put down on the ground stand up and shirk away. 

With a smirk, Emily turned to face the King of Hell. His handsome face paled at the look in her eyes, telling her how insane she must have looked. Battle always did that to her, woke up the animal inside and spurred it into a blood-fugue that wasn’t easily satisfied. She took a dead breath to try and calm the fuck down before she spoke in a much more level tone. 

“I had to get your attention somehow,” she said as she approached him. 

“By picked a fight in my foyer?” he asked, visibly covering his fear with bravado. 

“What can I say?” she asked. “I’ve been a bit tense and needed to burn off some energy.” 

“And what does that have to do with me?” he asked cautiously as he looked down at her face. 

“You have something that belongs to me and I want it back,” she said with a careless shrug. 

“And what, pray tell, could I possibly have that would summon a Demi-god such as yourself back into my kingdom?” he asked in a bored tone. 

“A soul,” she said and he narrowed his eyes at her. 

“Your soul is with you and nowhere on my lists,” he said. “Though, with your skills, I’m sure we could come to an arrangement,” he added with a smirk and brushed past her towards the throne room. She followed him, ignoring the glares from the guards as she passed. “What do you say we strike a deal? When you die, I can claim your soul and make you a demon instead of having you tortured for eternity. All you have to do is agree to work for me.” 

“Tempting, but I’ll pass,” she said. “Hades already called dibs.” 

“Yes, but I can kill you here and have you recruited before he even knows you’re dead. You don’t really want to spend eternity in Tartarus, do you?” he asked as he poured himself a drink and offered her one too. 

“You Brits and your lack of knowledge when it comes to Greek Theology will never cease to disappoint me,” she said as she accepted the scotch. “Hades is the ruler of the Underworld, which means he oversees both Tartarus and the Allegan Fields. There’s no guarantees he’ll toss me into Tartarus, if I play my cards right. Besides, if I go to the Underworld, I’ll be closer to my grandfather regardless of which tunnel I travel down.” 

Crowley shuttered at the thought and sipped his drink before turning on her with a grin. 

“You do realize your bloodline makes you a bitch, right?” he said and she rolled her eyes. 

“You’ve told that joke to me before, ass-hat,” she said. “And I still haven’t forgiven you for nicknaming me Lassie while I was working for you.” 

“How do you know that was a nickname?” he asked in mock innocence. “I was Scottish in my previous life. It could have just been a term of endearment.” 

“Was it?” she asked bluntly. 

“No,” he said unapologetically. “So what soul has Lassie come to fetch?” he asked, stepping away and towards the throne to sit down. 

“Sam Winchester’s,” she said and he chuckled. “What?” 

“I should have known,” he said with a sigh. “You and your never ending devotion to those boys. Every time I see you in Hell it’s because of one of them. You would think you would learn by now. Or is it a matter of old dogs and new tricks?” 

“I know Sam’s soul is still in the cage,” she said with more conviction than she felt. She wasn’t sure it was there. Hell, she wasn’t even sure he really was soulless. He could’ve just been a massive prick that knew how to play her like a fiddle to get her into bed. 

“I highly doubt that,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You precious moose is topside. And he’s been proving himself to be a much better Hunter without the squirrel holding him back.” 

“His meat is up top,” she said. “But it’s an empty vessel. He’s a Hunter operating on feral instinct alone. Without his soul, he’s not the same man.” 

Crowley studied her closely through narrowed eyes, his brows jumping sporadically as he thought. After a few moments, he leaned back in his throne and cracked a smile. 

“I rather like him the way his now,” he said, making her frown. “That grandfather of his isn’t screwing with my demons and Moose is taking his orders from him. I’m sorry, love. But if his soul is still in the cage, I think it’s going to be there for a long, long time.” 

Emily lunged before he could blink and wrapped her hands around his throat. His face turned red as his glass tumbled to the stone floor in an explosive of crystal and scotch. He tried to gasp, but she squeezed harder, baring her teeth at him. 

“You will open the cage for me, abomination,” she snarled. “Or I will rip you to shreds.” 

His face was turning purple when his eyes darted to the side over her shoulder an instant before she was hit with a blast that felt like her insides were on fire. She dropped Crowley out of instinct as she spun to attack her attacker. The man in the tan trench coat stared at her with deep confusion in his blue eyes and his head tilted to the side. 

“How are you still alive?” he asked in a gravelly voice. “I smote you.” 

“She’s a Demi-god,” Crowley wheezed as Emily lunged for the man in the trench coat. The man’s eyes widened at her attack and he brandished a strange silver blade against her. It burned as it pierced the skin of her shoulder, but the fire only spurred her on. She yanked her necklace from her throat again and smiled at his confusion. 

“Éla se ména, spathí,” she bellowed and a xiphos-style sword with an amber handle formed in her hand. Without a pause, she swung at him, catching him in the shoulder on purpose. “Blood for blood, demon,” she said with a smirk as he gripped the wound. 

“I am no demon,” he said, his nostrils flaring as his eyes narrowed. “I am an angel of the Lord.” 

“Not my lord,” she said and swung at him again. 

They parried and thrust with dizzying precision and blinding speed, dancing around one another in a deadly rhythm. In spite of the fact that she was going to lob off his head, she couldn’t help but admire him. If he was an angel, as he so claimed, he must have been a warrior. It was actually nice to be locked in battle with a worthy opponent for a change. Unfortunately, he was fighting for Crowley, who was prone to cheating. A steel net flew out over her when the angel pushed her a step back and the power of Hephaestus’s forge sang from the chain links. Emily’s feet tangled in the edge as Crowley yanked it closed and she fell to the stone floor with a snarl. 

“I don’t normally play dogcatcher these days,” the demon said with a smirk. “But in your case I’ll make an exception.” 


End file.
